Her All Along Page 5

  She pursed her lips. “That makes sense. It’s one of those helping verbs, right?”

  I nodded. “It is. Good job. Do you know the other term for a helping verb?”

  That made her huff and give me a look. “It’s summer break, Avery. English isn’t even your area of expertise.”

  I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  She waved a hand. “You may ask your question now.”

  Christ, this girl. I let out a soft laugh and shook my head, and she smiled very widely.

  “I was wondering why you come over to chat sometimes,” I said. “You have plenty of friends, and you evidently don’t want me to pretend to be an English teacher, so what is it?”

  “First things first.” She held up a finger. “Have I stepped on any toes, figuratively, or come over too often?”

  “Not at all,” I assured.

  “Okay.” She flashed a quick smile, then chewed on her lip and grew pensive.

  I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’d say. Pipsqueak was young and inexperienced at the same time as she was wise beyond her years, and she had an insight many couldn’t accumulate in decades. She was analytical, practical, and attacked problems from several angles. One perspective was never enough for her, and logic was her religion. She felt with her heart and left the thinking for her brain.

  A couple years ago, I witnessed her having a meltdown, complete with panic, breathing difficulties, tears streaming down her face, body shaking, and ear-shattering screams. But later, as she was starting to calm down, when Darius asked if she wanted to come with us to the store and pick out some things for a movie night, she’d asked us to wait. Because, “I can’t make any logical decisions right now.”

  Darius and I had been on our way to the store to buy beer for a barbecue, and Pipsqueak had eventually tagged along. Only, once there, she struggled with choosing what she wanted for her movie night, claiming every decision would be based on the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet and was starving for everything she laid her eyes on.

  “That chocolate looks amazing right now, but what if I won’t want it after dinner?”

  She understood cause and effect better than any other teenager I’d ever met.

  “Maybe you don’t have a specific reason.” I offered her an out since she wasn’t saying anything.

  “No, I have several. I’m currently compiling a list.” She tapped her temple. “Hold, please.”

  Okay, then.

  I sat back in my chair and finished the lemonade, and I wondered if I should give the indoors a break so I could fix the patio a bit. It was summer. I wanted to be able to sit out here and throw a steak on the grill. But for that to happen, I had to get started on the deck. And, well, I had to buy a grill. Or maybe I should wait till next summer.

  “All right, I’m ready,” Pipsqueak declared. She wasted no time and started counting the things on her fingers. “My brothers like you, so I can trust you. You don’t speak to me like I’m a mentally challenged toddler, and most people outside my family do that. You like children. You may prefer to teach your students about politics and current events, but you also teach history, which means you can help me put Darius and Ryan in their place when they get their facts wrong—like you did that one time last year. That was so funny.” My mouth twitched. I did remember. I’d whispered the correct date of a battle to her when her brothers had claimed it’d happened in September. “You’re not overwhelming,” she went on. “I can be silent with you, and it’s not awkward. You’re honest. You’re straightforward. When I ask something, I feel like you take me seriously and think through your answer. The teacher thing is really good—you know a lot. And…I guess… I don’t know, but I get along with boys better than girls. Sometimes it sucks, but it’s okay too.”

  I definitely got my answer.

  I wasn’t entirely sure how to react, other than…I appreciated her. She had a couple things very wrong about me, but that was because I was good at hiding everything I hated about myself when she was near. So much for me being honest.

  For the record, I wasn’t fond of children in general one bit. I did prefer them to adults, though. But that didn’t include my students. Teenagers were tiny adults hopped up on hormones. Pipsqueak was just different.

  “You’re a good kid, Pipsqueak. I appreciate you not just saying I’m nice or something. You think through your answers too.”

  She quirked a sly little smirk. “I’m not sure you are nice. You’re nice to me, but you have a reputation, Mister.”

  Oh hell. I pointed to myself, surprised and somewhat dreading to hear more. “I have a reputation?”

  This couldn’t be good. Especially if the reputation went beyond my school district, which was just north of where Pipsqueak went to school here in Downtown.

  Pipsqueak blushed and grinned impishly. “This boy I’m gonna marry has a cousin at your school. She says she doesn’t know what you hate more—your job or your students.”

  There was quite a bit to unpack there. “First of all, you don’t know who you’re going to marry. Second of all, I don’t hate my job. I hate how ungrateful teenagers are, particularly the ones at my school. They don’t know how lucky they are to get a good education. They’d rather play around with Myspace and Facebook.” I paused. “Did you know that my students get their own laptops? Meanwhile, there are hundreds of students at Camas High who’re still lugging around books from the seventies.”

  She hummed contemplatively. “So you grew up poor.”

  I did a quick double take at her and frowned. “Pardon?”

  “We always react to things that some take for granted, things we wanted when we were little.” She shrugged. “That’s been me my whole life—with normal people, I mean. I’m always seeing how easy everyday stuff is to most people, and then I’m here, freaking clueless.” She snorted softly. “I was at the store with Mom yesterday, and she asked me to grab a few bags of chips. Normal, right? But I froze. I didn’t know if she expected three or four bags, because technically everything between three and eight can be a few, depending on how you define several and many—and also, depending on how many you’re feeding. A ‘few’ in my family is a crapload to others. So, I just stood there and stared at her until I started crying.”

  I let out a breath and nodded slowly. “The grass is always greener.”

  “Where?” She became the picture of a question mark.

  It was endearing.

  “The grass is always greener on the other side,” I elaborated. “It’s a saying. We tend to want what we don’t have.”

  “Ah. Yes. It makes sense.” She dipped her chin and began drumming her fingers on her knees. “I have to go home, but you should make your students see what they have. Make them see they’re fortunate, rather than disliking them for having a fortune.”

  There wasn’t much I could say in response. The kid had a valid point.

  “I’ve reached my social interaction limit for the day,” she informed me and stood up. “The bottle, please? I’ll be back in a couple days with a new one. Aunt Britt and I are gonna do a new batch tomorrow. Now I’m just rambling, but I’m excited to try watermelon.”

  I stifled a smile and extended the bottle. “Until next time, Pipsqueak.”

  “Next time, Mister.” She offered a quick smile before she left.

  Six

  It turned out to be a good summer for me after all.

  I spent my days working on my house, making plans for next semester, talking to Pipsqueak, working out with Ethan, and every now and then stopping by the Quinns’ house to check in with them.

  At the end of July, our old house sold for $5,000 under the asking price, which was a good deal, considering the economy. We still made a decent profit.

  Being on my own was slowly stitching up some of the wounds that’d been ripped open over the last couple of years. I didn’t pursue anyone new, even for anything casual, and, for the first time in ages, I felt comfortable. My past stayed in the past, and it hel
ped that I was closing myself in and only spending time with people I already knew well.

  When August rolled around, I experienced something I hadn’t felt since I’d first become a teacher, and it was the itch to go back to work. For which I could thank Pipsqueak. She made me want to return to a classroom full of students.

  I was fully prepared to be disappointed when they once again proved how ungrateful they were, but I was going to give it an honest try. Even more than one. I wanted them to learn, and I wanted them to want it too. Whether I succeeded was partly up to me, so I couldn’t half-ass it.

  We taught in blocks at my school, something I’d always preferred. It allowed me to delve deeper into the subjects, and we didn’t get interrupted by the bell every forty minutes.

  This semester, I had history and economics, and the latter currently had me foaming at the mouth. Every morning, I studied the news closely, and I was waiting for this already massive problem to grow even bigger. I couldn’t believe some idiot politicians thought they could save the economy with impressive bailouts. The housing market collapsing was only the beginning—I was sure.

  I woke up at four one morning because I had a strange abundance of energy. I was meeting with the substitute teacher who would be covering my classes while I rode out my administrative leave, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t enjoy my inability to give up control. She’d have no leeway. I had big plans for this semester, so she’d basically spend the first month of the new semester ensuring my students read what I wanted them to read.

  Then I’d be back in September, fingers crossed. Everything was going accordingly to what my attorney had predicted; we were just waiting for the paperwork to go through. My record would be clean again afterward.

  Once my coffee was done, I brought a mug, my phone, and my laptop with me to the patio. I was no longer settling for yesterday’s paper. I’d already devoured every word, and I’d be at it again as soon as today’s paper was delivered in a few hours.

  It was going to be a hot day. I didn’t even need a hoodie.

  Since I’d started reading the news on my laptop, I’d bought a matching, cheap plastic table to go with the two chairs I had. They sufficed for now.

  I took a slow sip of my coffee while I waited for my laptop to power up.

  The first light of the day was touching the horizon over the mountains to the east.

  The seagulls would meet up with the fishermen returning to the marina soon.

  My phone buzzed with a message from Pipsqueak.

  Tell me when you’re up.

  I responded.

  I’m up. Come over if you want.

  She was following the recent events in Iraq closely, and I enjoyed getting reports from her.

  “Let’s see.” I rubbed my hands together and nodded to myself as the first headlines flashed on the screen. There wasn’t a chance in hell this wouldn’t be a global crash. How could some people stay positive—and naïve—in these times?

  The Asian markets were failing, and the Footsie on the London Stock Exchange had dropped below 6,000 points in their morning session.

  “Morning, Mister!”

  “Morning, hon.” I sipped my coffee and scanned the article. “Any update from your brothers?”

  She was too funny. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas, instead opting for throwing a blanket around her shoulders.

  She set two lemonade bottles on the table. “Yes, Ryan is okay.”

  That was a relief. Other than being a highly skilled sniper in the Marines, stationed in one of the most hostile countries in the world, Ryan, along with his battalion, was part of some operation that was currently going on the offensive against a rise of insurgents outside of Fallujah.

  “Did you email him yet?” Pipsqueak wondered.

  I inclined my head and moved on to the WSJ website. “You insisted, and I obeyed. I emailed Jake too.”

  “Because you’re their friend! They wanna hear from you too,” she defended. “Did you tell them you miss them?”

  Eh. That wasn’t quite how I communicated with my friends. “Guys look out for one another,” I said. “I told them to sell their stocks. It’s our version of expressing care.”

  Pipsqueak made a strangled noise. “How?”

  “Because I’m essentially protecting their assets. I’m letting them know that the economy is about to tank, and my warning will allow them to evacuate a burning building before it collapses.” I eyed a headline and frowned, then clicked on it and rubbed a hand over my mouth. Yeah, fuck all the politicians and bankers who said everything was fine.

  “Is this about the house bubble thing on the news?” she asked curiously. “Dad talks about it a lot.”

  I hummed and nodded as I read.

  “By the way, you’re squinting,” she told me. “That’s a sign that you might need glasses. You’re straining your eyes.”

  I squinted harder at her, causing her to giggle, and said, “I sure as fuck don’t need glasses.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and slid one of the lemonade bottles my way. “The news is boring. Even Willow has her eyes glued to the news. FYI, that’s a figure of speech.”

  “Good to know.” I withheld my smile and dutifully uncapped the bottle. “It’s great to follow the news, though. It’s the first assignment I give my seniors every semester. They have to watch the news a few times a week or read a minimum of four articles about current events.”

  Pipsqueak pretended to snore.

  “Tsk.”

  “Of course you think the news is exciting. You’re a teacher.”

  It was hardly a rule among teachers in general, but if you had a master’s in social studies, current events were kind of a big deal. Especially these times we lived in. This year and the next were going to be interesting.

  I looked forward to discussing it with Darius when he came home in October. He shared my cynical view on the world, but unlike me, who played around with a modest stock portfolio, he was the type of man who hid cash in the mattress.

  “Try the lemonade,” Pipsqueak urged.

  Right. The lemonade. I took a swig and felt an explosion of exotic flavors in my mouth. Pineapple, lime—I dug the lime a lot—and…orange. “It’s good,” I said. “Very tart.”

  She narrowed her eyes and chewed on the inside of her cheek.

  I narrowed my eyes right back.

  “I’m reading you,” she said.

  “I noticed,” I replied. “Your analytical mind never rests, does it?”

  She flashed a sheepish smirk at that. “It’s not my fault. Humans only share a fraction of what they really think.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but she could take me at my word.

  “If I say something is good, I mean it.”

  “I believe you, but was it followed by…but I liked this-and-such even more?”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Nope. I get where you’re coming from, but I’m pretty simple. This one was good.” I took another swig and nodded. “Was it your best? No, but I’m enjoying it. Just like I enjoy a grilled hot dog sometimes, even though a good steak will always be better.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “So, this was the hot dog of lemonades.”

  “You could say that. And sometimes, that’s what I want.” I paused and studied her briefly, wondering if making lemonade was her current obsession. Last year, it had been Popsicles. “Is the lemonade thing your idea, or is it how your aunt is getting through her divorce?”

  Pipsqueak tipped her hand, weighing the response. “A bit of both, maybe? What I really want to do is experiment with sweets, but I have to save up for a chocolate tempering machine. Then I’m gonna make truffles.”

  I had no idea what a chocolate…tempering machine did, but I was sure she’d ace it.

  “Do you like chocolate?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I admitted. “I’m not much for swee—”

  “Whoa. Dude. That was a rhetorical question.” She suddenly looked queasy a
nd adorably upset. “How can you not—I m-mean, everybody loves—holy crap.” Before I knew it, she shot up from her seat. “I have to process this, Mister. Bye.”

  I blinked and watched her leave.

  Ethan barked out a laugh and slowed down from his sprint on the treadmill.

  “She hasn’t stopped by since then,” I went on, out of breath, and eyed the timer on my own treadmill. The display showed I had eleven minutes to go. “Should I be worried?”

  I wasn’t seriously concerned, but I’d clearly offended Pipsqueak somehow if she hadn’t visited in almost a week.

  I’d texted her once, to which she’d responded by saying she was still processing the fact that I didn’t have a sweet tooth.

  “She’ll get over it,” Ethan chuckled and chugged some water. “I remember she looked at me like I’d sworn allegiance to her mortal enemy when I said I didn’t see the big deal with cupcakes.”

  “That’s exactly what she looked like!” I exclaimed.

  Ethan grinned and used a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. “She’s evidently adopted you as a new brother, so you have two options. You can grovel and beg to be her guinea pig once she starts creating candy…” He must’ve seen the look on my face. I didn’t fucking beg. And I didn’t grovel to a damn teenager. Ethan smirked. “Or you can do what I do. Being her brother comes with a privilege. You can fuck with her. Hunker down and stand your ground—send her a massacred cupcake or something.” Then he backtracked. “Maybe not a cupcake, on second thought. She’ll think I sent it.”

  I let out a labored laugh and wiped my face with the neckline of my tee. I wasn’t going to send her anything like that, partly because I kind of liked the idea of her seeing me as a brother. It meant I was part of something to cherish.

  As I slowed down my jog a bit, I swiped up my phone from one of the cupholders, and I sent Pipsqueak a message.

  While we’re on the subject, cupcakes, cake, cookies, and ice cream are overrated too.

  “This okay?” I showed Ethan the screen.

  He read it and held up his fist for me to bump. “Brother. Welcome to the family.”